


Altruism

by ladyoneill



Series: Lady O's Teen Wolf Bingo Stories [76]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Forced Prostitution, Good Peter, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:51:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is kidnapped by hunters out to punish human sympathizers.  By the time the Pack finds him, he's been forced into prostitution.  Peter's the only one who can get him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Altruism

**Author's Note:**

> So, new bingo card! Hurt/comfort again. The prompt is: forced to participate in illegal/hurtful activity. The rapes are only talked about, not graphic at all, but Stiles was beaten, drugged, trained, raped, all at sixteen. This not a Peter/Stiles fic; it's a Peter rescuing the one person in the Pack he actually likes fic. Oh, also Allison lives.

It takes nearly a month, but Peter finds him.

Just as he knew he'd be, he's too late.

*****

The boy sits curled in the passenger seat of his Ferrari, hunched in on himself, pale and quiet and too damn still. Peter tries to focus on the road, the nearly seven hour drive ahead of them, but his attention keeps being drawn back to his companion.

Everything is very, very wrong.

Finally, he gives up and pulls off the highway into the parking lot of a generic chain motel.

"Stay here," he says as he gets out of the car and heads for the office. There is no doubt in his mind that the boy will be in the car when he gets back.

He is.

Opening the passenger door, he steps back and gives another soft command. "Get out and come with me," and he's obeyed, and, again, he's not surprised. The boy shuffles his feet, but follows him across the parking lot and into a room. It's clean enough, smoke free at least, though there's the subtle aroma of sex and humanity that clings to every motel room. Peter long ago learned to filter that out and he does so with ease. 

After closing and locking the door, he turns and huffs a sigh, then quickly crosses to the boy and stops him from slipping the tight pants down his legs. The sheer shirt is already on the floor, on top of the simple slip-on shoes.

Easy access.

Fucking easy access.

Fury bursts across his senses, but Peter reins it in, shakes his head. "No."

A moment of confusion crosses the boy's face, and then resignation as he drops to his knees and reaches for Peter's belt buckle.

Jesus.

"Stiles, no," he says firmly, grabbing his hands and pulling him back to his feet.

Stiles...what's left of him...just blinks dull brown eyes.

He doesn't say a word.

*****

"They'll never let you in," Peter argued. "You're too well known as a sympathizer."

Chris shot him an annoyed look. "And you're a werewolf, not exactly welcome there."

"I'm dead and I can easily pass for human. They know what Stilinski looks like, too, and all the Pack, so Derek can't go. Melissa? I don't think so. It's not a place women are welcome. I'm doing this."

John looked torn, but also so desperate, and Peter knew he had his vote. It was just the one with the money that was being a stubborn ass.

"Dad," Allison said softly, a hand on his arm, and that was all it took--the matriarch--for Argent to capitulate and hand over the small case with a hundred thousand dollars in it.

"I need to leave now. The invitation is for tonight. They'll move the..." At John's flinch, Peter bit back what he was going to say, changed it to "location again soon, maybe even tomorrow."

"Please just...get him back, whatever you have to do."

It was permission from the Sheriff to commit murder, and Peter just nodded and headed for the door of Argent's apartment. Derek caught up to him there.

"Are you sure you won't take back up?"

"Can't risk it. As I said, your faces are known to these asshole hunters."

"We don't know for sure yours isn't."

"We have no other choice. I'm the best bet."

Derek's brow furrowed. "Why are you doing this?"

Good question. He wasn't exactly known for his altruism, but the answer really wasn't that hard.

"It's Stiles."

Derek let him go.

*****

Peter sits Stiles down on the end of the bed, drags a chair over to face him, watches as the boy's face goes closed, the eyes even emptier. "Do you know who you are?"

"...Stiles," he whispers.

"Did you know that before I called you that?" The answer is a nod, but it's enough. "Do you know who I am?"

"Peter."

Peter's actually surprised at that. "When did you recognize me?"

"I...always." Stiles startles a bit, then stares down at his lap. 

"You didn't give me away."

"No," he stammers, hunching into himself again, as if expecting a blow. "The clients are always to be respected," he finally mutters, as if by rote.

"Stiles, I'm rescuing you."

That jerks his head back up, if only for a second, and in that second, Peter sees a true emotion in his eyes.

Fear laced hope.

"But, they sold..."

"Well, yeah, I couldn't just steal you away. I had a hundred grand to buy myself a human sympathizer as a toy." He ignores Stiles' instinctive shudder. "They're greedy assholes and, sadly, there are always more boys like you."

"They...they..." And the dam breaks. Crumpling onto his side, Stiles starts to sob wildly, and, with a compassion he never shows, Peter goes to him and wraps his arms around him, soothing him as best he can.

*****

The brothel moved around. Invitations were purchased through an intermediary. It had taken them almost a week to figure out who had taken Stiles. The truth had nearly broken his father.

The boy was sixteen, a virgin at least with men, and too damn pretty.

There was no way they would find him in time.

As Scott raged, as Lydia buried her emotions, as Derek broke things, Peter researched until he found someone who would assist them, to make it known that he was looking to buy not just rent for a night. The money wasn't an issue; Argent's determination to be the one to go in was, but they'd deal with that when they time came.

The hardest part was waiting for the invitation to come.

When it did, Peter faced a seven hour drive into Idaho.

The house was nondescript, set on a quiet street in a town of about three thousand inhabitants, but the security, though subtle to anyone human who knew to look, was impressive. At one glance, Peter knew this was the only way to do this. The Pack wouldn't have been able to fight their way in without casualties, and Stiles would have probably been the first--the hunters cutting their losses and getting rid of the evidence.

He just had to hope that they'd be willing to deal, which meant he also had to hope that they were already growing tired of Stiles. He'd only been there a month so he might be still new enough they wouldn't want to sell him yet.

When Peter was shown into a sitting room, he saw him immediately, but his eyes deliberately fell on another of the four young men sitting on dining room chairs in a row. All of them were looking at him, varying attempts at seductive expressions mingled with desperation and fear on their faces. Peter let his gaze drift over all of them, not lingering on Stiles, but at the dull look on his face, he felt his heart sink.

Damn, he'd hoped for mouthy belligerence. He wasn't even sure there was any recognition there.

"Are they drugged?" he murmured to the woman who'd accompanied him.

"No need. They're well-conditioned. We use a variety of training methods to break them before introducing them to clients. You don't need to fear they'll fight you. Our reputation..."

"Yes, it's one of the reasons I sought out this particular establishment. They just seem very docile. I do like a bit of...emotion."

"Oh, they'll be whatever you want them to be. They'll even struggle and cry if you want them to." 

Her smirk turned his stomach, but he returned it. "I understand that this can be more than one night..." A pat on the case in his hand drew her avid attention.

"You heard right. We actually try to have turn over after a few months, while their training is still fresh. While they're still fresh." At her dark chuckle, he continued to smirk and gestured to the young men--none of whom looked over eighteen. 

"And I understand that they were all taken cleanly? I don't want an angry pack or coven finding me."

"No worries there, though we do recommend discretion. If you have the funds to purchase one of our boys, you should be able to hide him and your trail well enough."

"Very true. I'd like to have them stand."

The woman barked a command and all four boys rose to their feet. The clothes they wore were skimpy and easily removed, but at least they weren't slathered in make-up or reeking of perfume. They were all so damn young.

Peter made an effort to examine all four, not lingering on any of them, and tried to ignore the worry that welled up in him when Stiles just let him touch him, squeeze his bicep, pat his ass.

No drugs? Yeah, maybe not now.

"So, do any of them meet your needs?"

At his nod, negotiations began.

About thirty minutes and eighty thousand dollars later, he walked out with Stiles following docilely behind him.

*****

When Stiles slips into a fitful sleep, Peter tucks him beneath the blankets and then takes out his phone. They're more than an hour away from the brothel and any possibility of monitoring, so he figures it's safe enough to call the Pack.

Scott picks up on the first ring. "Did you find him? Did you get him? Is he okay?" all comes out in one, panicked breath. 

"Yes to the first two. He's sleeping. When he wakes up, we'll get back on the road."

"Why did you stop?!"

"Scott." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Peter attempts patience. "He was nearly scared out of his skin. I needed to talk to him, to make sure he understood what was happening."

"Does he?" That's the Sheriff, his voice cracking over the speaker phone, and Peter sighs softly.

"Yeah. He knew me, knows himself."

"Did they...?"

Jesus. Such pain in the man's voice.

"John...Your son is strong, you know that."

There's a sob and then Derek's on the phone. "You're off speaker. Tell me."

"I don't know details, Derek. They drugged him, broke him, trained him, whored him out for nearly a month. He's docile and scared and went to his fucking knees to try to blow me." His voice rises in frustration and there's a whimper from the bed. "He's waking up again. We'll be home soon enough."

"Speed." 

Derek hangs up and Peter sighs again, wondering if it's progress that his nephew didn't ask if he let Stiles give him a blow job.

"Peter?"

Stuffing his phone back into his pocket, he turns back to the bed to sit next to Stiles who's struggling into a sitting position.

"Sorry about that. I wanted to let you sleep longer."

"I just...can we go home?" The hesitancy in his voice makes Peter dig his claws into the palm of his hand. A part of him, the wolf closer to the surface than it's been in a long time, wants to return to the brothel and slaughter every hunter there. 

"Yeah. Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

He shakes his head. "Can I shower?"

"Yeah, sure. I brought some of your clothes. I'll go get them.

A flush crosses Stiles' cheeks as he glances down at the skimpy, clinging pants, and his voice trembles as he says, "thanks."

Peter nods and gets up to go to the car. When he returns, he hears the shower running and slips the bag into the bathroom, then walks over to the bed to get the discarded shirt and shoes. He notices something shiny on the sheet and frowns, then growls softly as the scent hits him. The smells from the brothel lingered on Stiles. He hadn't noticed the lube.

Fuck.

Was he raped before Peter got there tonight or just prepped?

With an angry yank, he covers the stain with the blanket and dumps the clothes in the trash can. A few minutes later, Stiles warily emerges from the bathroom wearing loose jeans--he's lost weight--and a long sleeve t-shirt. His too long hair is wet and frames his pale face, but at least his eyes have some life in them now.

"Feeling better?"

"Why you, Peter? Why did you come for me?"

"I was the only one they hopefully wouldn't recognize."

Stiles' expression betrays his bafflement. "But...what do you get out of it?" His eyes drop, the long lashes brushing his cheekbones--bones that are more prominent now and make him look almost delicate.

"Nothing."

"But..."

"Stiles, you're Pack."

Slowly the boy lifts his eyes and there's something new in them. A strength returning. "Oh...Okay, let's...let's go home."

Peter nods.

*****

During the long drive, Stiles slowly starts to talk, at first haltingly as if he's trying to work it all out himself, but, eventually it all just spills out. Peter remains silent, listening and absorbing, wondering if anyone will be able to help him, if this confession is helping at all. There are more tears and whimpers, and half the time Stiles curls into himself, on the edge of panicking, but he gets it all out.

Every disgusting thing those men, both hunters and clients did to him, all the sex acts forced on him. How he fought at first, fought against the drugs and the unwanted touches. The beatings when he spit in the first trainer's face and bit another's dick. His first client who took his virginity. How much it hurt. How much it always hurt.

How during the first training days he sometimes got aroused. How later he never got aroused, even when alone. How he fears he never will again.

How disgusting and dirty and used he feels.

Stiles gets it all out, all the horrors and fears. He was scared every second in that place. Haltingly he admits he's scared this is a dream.

And there's the guilt, too, that he finally just gave in and let them do whatever they wanted, became whatever they wanted, stopped fighting. Guilt over the boys left behind. Guilt over what this has done to his dad.

Peter listens to everything, says nothing, just waits for the inevitable crying to start again. When it does, he pulls into a gas station and parks on the edge. He's not surprised when Stiles basically crawls into his lap and sobs himself to sleep again.

As he strokes the boy's trembling back, he wonders again at the odd compassion he feels, at the desire to help him. It's not just because he's Pack. Stiles has always been the only one to really interest him, to challenge him, to make him...well, not be a better man, not really, but want to be something else.

Maybe that's the real reason he's the one here. Maybe there is a bit of altruism in him.

Maybe he's not quite so dead inside after all.

End


End file.
